


Blue Sheets

by firethesound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Drinking, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just supposed to be a night out. Harry absolutely didn't plan on admitting his feelings for Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Sheets

“Bloody hell, Harry. Aren’t you ready yet?”

Harry, in the process of trying to drag his jumper on over his head without removing his glasses first, jumped at the unexpected voice. He finally succeeded in poking his head through the neck hole, knocking his glasses askew on his face as he did so. He hurriedly jammed an arm through one sleeve, adjusted his glasses, and shoved his other arm into its sleeve before turning to the doorway of his bedroom.

“And are you really wearing that?”

Ron Weasley lounged in the doorway, looking rather nice in a set of forest green robes that Harry hadn’t seen on him before. They suited Ron's complexion perfectly, and Harry would bet every last knut in his vault that Hermione had dressed him, which made Ron’s critique of Harry’s outfit that much more absurd.

“I’ve got it on, don’t I?” Harry shot back, sweeping his palms over the soft grey wool of his cable knit jumper to smooth it out, then brushed a bit of lint from his dark trousers. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, nothing’s _wrong_ with it. It’s just a bit, you know. Muggle. For an Auror function, I mean.”

Harry rolled his eyes and went off in search of his shoes. “It’s not an official Auror function,” he called back from inside his closet. “And since this is what I wear when I’m not at work… ah ha!” He located his shoes beneath a spare blanket and emerged with them. “It’s fine. We’re just going to a pub.” He sat down on the edge of his bed to tie his shoelaces. “And by the way, I didn’t give you Floo access to my flat so you could barge in here with no warning. What if I’d been naked?”

Now Ron rolled his eyes at Harry. “So what if you had? Seven years of boarding school, mate. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Finished with his shoes, Harry stood. “Doesn’t mean you need to keep seeing it. You look nice, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Ron grinned. “Are you ready?”

Harry sighed. “I guess.”

“What now? You look about as excited as a flobberworm at a funeral.”

“Well, it’s just, we’ve been made full Aurors—“

“Hence why we’re going out to celebrate,” Ron put in.

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t really want to spend my first night as an Auror getting pissed out of my mind.” He brushed by Ron and led the way to the front door.

“Who said you have to get pissed? Just go out, have a few drinks, and be done with it.”

“But I’m sure people will be buying us rounds,” Harry pointed out as they stepped out into the hallway and he turned back to lock his door.

“And you’re an adult. You’re allowed to say no thanks.” Ron clapped him on the shoulder. “You need to relax. This is going to be fun.”

“Yeah. Fun,” Harry muttered.

They stepped into the stairwell and paused to peer up and down the flights for any Muggles – the disadvantage of living in a Muggle building, but Harry gladly took it for the relative privacy it gave him – before they risked Apparating.

“Do you know where we’re going?” he asked.

“Not precisely, but I think it’s just down the street from the Leaky. Meet you there and we’ll walk down?”

“Right.”

Harry spun on his heel and a moment later found himself standing in Diagon Alley with the faint crack of his Apparition echoing in his ears. Ron appeared beside him with a bang.

“You know,” he said as they started walking. “It seems only just yesterday we were starting out as trainees. Hard to believe it’s been two years already.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It went fast.” And it had, he realized as they walked.

“It was nice,” Ron said. “I didn’t think it would be, especially when we were assigned our groups. I mean, you and Seamus, fine. But Malfoy?”

Harry laughed at that. “I think everyone was surprised when nobody ended up murdering anyone else.”

“He’s changed. Didn’t think he was capable of it, but he did. He’s really not a bad sort, once you get to know him. Still a gigantic prat, but I suppose he can’t really help that.” Ron snorted. “It’s just who he is.”

Harry said nothing at that. Malfoy really had changed over the two short years of their training. They’d all been surprised when he turned up that first day; Harry couldn’t say whether he was more surprised by the fact that Malfoy had wanted to be an Auror or the fact that the Aurors had let him in. Then came the shock of when they were divided into their four-man training groups and Malfoy had ended up with them. They’d certainly clashed, especially in those early months, but it soon settled into an uneasy truce, and then a mutual agreement to let bygones be bygones, and then finally came the unexpected realization that they worked exceptionally well together. 

Malfoy had a sharp, analytical mind, and an uncanny way of glancing at a situation and immediately identifying everything that could go wrong. That, combined with Ron’s penchant for planning and his chess-honed ability to see a situation five moves further along than it was, Seamus’ stubbornness and tenacity, and Harry’s utter willingness to do whatever needed to be done made them a brilliant team. Shame that next week they’d be split up when the Auror Department assigned them individual partners.

Harry had also noticed other changes about Malfoy. Like the way he’d finally grown into those pointy features of his. Or how funny he was once those cutting remarks he made lost their razor edge. Or the way he gave sage advice when people needed it most but always packaged it in layers of sarcasm that didn’t quite hide his sincerity. Or the way Harry’s stomach flopped when Malfoy murmured a low comment in his ear, or how the slightest brush of Malfoy’s hand against his own made Harry’s arms erupt in goosebumps. Or the way that Harry couldn’t bloody stop thinking about him.

“Harry?” Ron was watching him curiously.

Harry was glad the streetlights were dim enough to hide the sudden blush that crept up his cheeks. “Sorry, just a bit distracted. You know, thinking. About things.”

Thankfully, Ron didn’t press the matter. “Oh, here we are,” he said as they approached a warmly-lit pub with a sign over the door proclaiming it The Grizzled Grindylow.

Ron pushed the door open and Harry followed him inside. An oblong bar dominated the center of the room, and bartenders bustled about inside the corral it made, filling drinks and orders. Nearly every seat around its length was occupied, as were the tables that filled the rest of the pub, and Harry recognized a large number of the patrons from around the Ministry or from his Auror classes. It seemed that everyone was busy talking or laughing at the top of their lungs and the sheer noise of it made Harry feel a bit dizzy.

“Come on, I see them!” Ron shouted in his ear, and dragged Harry off to a table along the left side of the room where Seamus and two older men sat.

Harry barely recognized their trainers, Cliffords and Hartford, without their uniform robes. Both men were nearing the end of their thirties and had been partners for well over a decade. Cliffords was taller, with dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. Hartford was shorter but wider, with sandy hair and a neat goatee. Ron sat next to Seamus, and Harry dropped into the vacant seat between him and Cliffords. He blinked when the overwhelming noise of the room dropped to a dull roar.

Hartford laughed. “Like that, do you?” he said, and Harry could hear him perfectly well even though he barely raised his voice. “That’s the main reason we like to come here. Clever little charms on all the tables means we don’t have to resort to passing notes to get your point across.”

Seamus pushed a pint of lager down to Harry and set a second in front of Ron. “Got you these, since the bar’s a madhouse. Thought I’d save you the trouble since I was up there already,” he said.

“Thanks, mate!” Ron said with a grin and toasted Seamus with his pint before taking a swig.

“You can thank me by getting my next drink,” Seamus said with a grin. “Between you and Harry and Malfoy, I figure I’ve got three more rounds before I have to brave that lot again.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the crowded bar.

“Very Slytherin of you,” Ron told him.

Seamus just grinned. “Only when there’s alcohol involved, mate.”

“So we’re just waiting on Malfoy now,” Cliffords said. “Then we can start celebrating properly.” He and Hartford exchanged grins that tugged at Harry’s suspicions.

But he didn’t have a chance to follow that train of thought because Malfoy swept over to their table just then and claimed the remaining empty seat.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, even though he wasn’t, really, just the last to arrive.

“That’s alright,” Seamus said. “Gave us plenty of time to talk about you behind your back.” He nudged a pint glass over to Malfoy. “Here, this is for you.”

Malfoy looked a bit surprised. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be fooled,” Ron said. “He bought us drinks too, so now he doesn’t have to leave the table for the next few rounds.”

Malfoy swept an appraising glance over Seamus. “That’s quite Slytherin of you. I’ll have to remember that trick next time I’m out. Cheers.” He raised his glass to Seamus and took a sip.

“And speaking of drinks,” Hartford said as he stood. “As your ex-instructor it’ll be my pleasure to pick up the next round.”

“I’ll help,” Cliffords said.

Both instructors left for the bar. While they were gone, the table settled into an easy conversation of departmental gossip and speculation about who would be assigned to whom as a partner. Harry had nearly made it through his pint by the time Cliffords and Hartford returned bearing a pitcher and six shot glasses of liquor. Hartford topped up their pint glasses, while Cliffords distributed the shots before settling back down in his seat and raising his own shot glass.

“To our newest Aurors. I’d wish you good luck, but you’re one of the best lots I’ve had the pleasure of teaching. You don’t need luck to do well,” Hartford said, raising his own glass.

“Here, here!” exclaimed Cliffords, and everyone drank.

The firewhiskey burned a pleasant path down to Harry’s belly where the warmth of it spread through his chest. He gave a little cough as he set the glass back down on the table, and chased the shot with a sip of beer.

“To us!” Seamus said, slamming his empty glass down, and Ron laughed while Malfoy shook his head and hid a smile in his pint glass.

They settled back into their discussion, but Harry was only half listening by that point. It was hard to focus on something so mundane as conversation with his brain pleasantly muzzy from the alcohol and with Malfoy sitting there just across the table from him. He really shouldn’t be allowed to look so good; it was bad for Harry’s concentration.

Or rather, it was bad for Harry’s concentration if he tried to think of anything other than Malfoy. Harry was getting quite good at concentrating on Malfoy. Practice makes perfect and all. He’d once spent an entire departmental meeting contemplating the exact color of Malfoy’s hair. White-blond was too ordinary a description for such an unusual shade. Platinum-blond was closer, but a bit cliché. Calling it flaxen was too trite, and describing it as the color of moonlight was, while accurate, just plain silly. By the end of the hour Harry had finally settled on corn silk. Malfoy’s hair was the exact color of corn silk.

Harry considered it a meeting well spent.

Tonight, Malfoy’s eyes distracted him, drawing his thoughts away as the conversation grew louder and more raucous. Ron said something that made Seamus laugh uproariously, but Harry’s mind had already gone elsewhere.

Until he’d started working closely with Malfoy on a daily basis, Harry had never really noticed just how reflective Malfoy’s eyes were, how they seemed to pick up whatever color was near and assimilate it. When he wore black or charcoal, his eyes seemed the dark roiling grey of rainclouds. When he wore green they became the choppy grey-green of the sea in storm. Tonight, Malfoy wore a robe of deep plum that gave his eyes the faintest hint of violet, which Harry thought was almost-but-not-quite his favorite. No, his favorite was when Malfoy wore that royal blue jumper of his that made his eyes glow like the Hogwarts Lake beneath a perfect cloudless summer sky.

He felt rather silly admitting this even in his head, but the way that Malfoy’s eyes looked with that jumper had inspired Harry to buy a set of blue bed sheets, just a few shades brighter than navy. He thought Malfoy would look breathtaking spread out on those sheets, with his corn silk hair fanned over them, and those long limbs of his, and all that pale, pale skin put on display, a striking contrast against that perfect blue.

Dimly, Harry became aware that the table had gone very quiet and everyone’s attention had migrated to him.

“Huh?” he said as casually as he could and took a gulp of his pint.

“You still with us, Harry? You look like you’re a thousand miles away,” Ron said.

Harry gave them a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Just lost in thought.”

“Well, obviously,” Seamus said with a grin. He nudged Ron, who grinned right back.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ron asked.

“Malfoy naked,” said Harry.

The table went dead silent for a beat before it erupted in fresh peals of laughter, aside from Harry, whose brain was still catching up to what his mouth had just said, and Malfoy, who was gaping openly.

“I thought you did all of them!” Hartford said to Cliffords.

“I did,” Cliffords replied, sobering.

“Did you mix them up? My name is Dolores Umbridge,” Hartfort said.

“I’m a house elf,” Cliffords said.

“What?” said Harry, feeling hopelessly lost.

“You mean…” Ron trailed off, all traces of humor vanished. “Harry, you were really thinking about Malfoy naked?”

 _No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous. I was just joking_ , Harry tried to say, but what came out was, “Yes, I was. He’s all pale with those long limbs, and I’ve got these blue sheets on my bed, you see, and I bet he’d look fantastic against—Fucking hell, you’ve dosed me with veritaserum!”

It had been easy to miss, the telltale faint fuzzy-headedness that came with it handily disguised by the alcohol. He’d been dosed with veritaserum and had just admitted aloud that he wanted Malfoy naked in his bed. His stomach twisted.

“It was just a prank, Potter,” Hartford said defensively. “All the instructors do it to their new Aurors.”

“It’s practically tradition,” Cliffords added a bit desperately. “It’s just a laugh.”

Harry couldn’t respond. His chest felt tight and his mouth had gone dry and Malfoy was still just _staring_ at him, staring and not saying anything at all.

“But, but,” Ron said. “You fancy Malfoy?”

“Yes, very much so. Ron, please.”

“But _why_?”

“Because he’s fit and clever and funny and it turns out I’ve got a bit of a thing for blonds. Ron, I’m begging you, please stop.”

“But—“

“Ron!” Harry snapped at him.

“I really want to know what Malfoy thinks of this?” Seamus said, his voice tipping up at the end just enough to phrase the statement as a question.

“I’m pleased,” Malfoy said quietly.

“Right, because the last thing I need is you having something else to mock me over.” Harry shoved his chair back and fled.

He’d made it nearly to the door when he realized how childish he was acting. He just needed a bit of time to let the embarrassment wear down a bit, until his humiliation wasn’t quite so fresh. He’d just pop into the gents, splash a bit of water on his face, then go back and pretend it had never happened. Plan in mind, Harry circled around the perimeter of the room until he spotted a sign for the toilets just near the kitchens. He made his way down a narrow hallway, past the ladies’ room. He was about to step into the men’s room when he noticed a doorway at the end of the hall propped ajar. Outside. Fresh air would be the perfect thing to clear his head. Harry went for it and stepped out into a dim alleyway only to find that Malfoy had evidently thought the same thing.

Malfoy froze, lit cigarette dangling between two fingers, and Harry froze too. Somehow, turning around and going back inside seemed worse than staying, but he also felt odd for coming out here without an obvious reason.

“Can I have one?” he blurted out, gesturing to Malfoy’s hand.

Malfoy’s eyebrows came up, and he offered the cigarette he held. “I’ve only just lit it,” he said. “Figure you won’t mind that I’ve had my mouth on it, what with you fancying me and all.”

The words were offered as polite and gentle as the cigarette, and Harry blushed but did his best to not take offense. “Thanks,” he said stiffly as he took it. His fingers tingled where Malfoy’s brushed against them.

“Don’t mention it,” Malfoy replied.

He fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from a fold in his robes, plucked a fresh one from the pack and stuck it in his mouth. He lit it with his wand and sucked in a deep breath. A moment later he tipped his head back and blew a stream of smoke skyward.

Harry put his own cigarette between his lips and inhaled, pulling an irresistible tickle into his lungs. He coughed, tried to resist coughing, and coughed harder. His eyes watered.

“First time?” Damn it, Malfoy sounded amused. 

“Yes,” Harry said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Malfoy said and flicked ash from the tip of his cigarette. “About this, or about what happened in there.”

“What?”

“You misunderstood me when I said I was pleased. I didn’t mean I was going to mock you about it.” He paused. “Merlin knows your hair’s still providing me more than enough material to poke fun at you over, if I had a mind to.”

Harry’s brows drew together. “You’d never make fun of me about it?”

“Nnggh,” Malfoy said. “Damn. Yes, I would.”

Harry wasn’t aware he’d turned to leave until Malfoy caught him with a hand to his elbow. “Let go of me.”

“Look, I’m still under veritaserum too. Just listen to me. Please.”

It was the _please_ that got him. He’d never heard Malfoy say please for anything. “Fine,” Harry said, turning back.

Malfoy took in another lungful of smoke and let it out again on a sigh before he said, “I probably will mock you about it, but not now. I was thinking more of when we’re old together, surrounded by dozens of fat grandchildren.” He winced. “Sorry, that’s a bit presumptuous of me to say.”

Harry’s head was spinning. Malfoy wanted to be with him and get old together and have children? “Men can have babies?”

Malfoy laughed. “No, it’s not possible. Magic can do a lot of things, but not that.”

“Oh,” Harry said and sounded a bit disappointed even to himself. He’d resigned himself to never having a child of his own and for one brilliant moment he thought he’d been wrong. “That’s a shame. I bet we’d have fantastic looking children.” He blushed, hot and deep, as he realized what he’d just said.

But Malfoy only laughed again. “I bet we would. But not fat. I’m not even sure why I said that. It’s not as if we’d be able to produce a child who’s anything other than skinny, what with our genetics, right?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I might just be small from childhood malnutrition.”

Malfoy stared at him. “You were starved as a child?”

“Yes. Please don’t ask me anything else about it.” Harry could feel his face burning.

“I… Right, of course not.” Malfoy nodded and flicked more ash from his cigarette. “Right,” he said again.

“I’ll, um, I’ll tell you more about it. Someday. Just not like this.” Harry tried another drag of his cigarette and coughed again. It tasted bad and made his throat burn, and he really had no idea why anyone did this to themselves, much less how they enjoyed it. He dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it out beneath his shoe. “So. When you said you were pleased…?”

Malfoy laughed. “You’re not very good at this, are you, Potter?” He flicked his cigarette away and took Harry’s hands in his. “I’m pleased that you fancy me because I happen to fancy you as well. Rather a lot, as it so happens.”

Harry tilted his head back and Malfoy was right there, so close that Harry could smell the tobacco and whiskey on his breath. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

“No,” Malfoy said promptly, then flinched. “Sorry, I—“

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to do it in a dirty alley,” he said, and sighed. “Potter, we’ve known each other for ages but it’s only been recently that we’ve really _known_ each other, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “I know.”

“Right. Well, that’s probably my fault. No, don’t say anything, just listen for now. I’ve wanted you in one way or another since we were two dumb kids being fitted for our first sets of school robes. And I went about it all wrong. At Hogwarts I fucked up any chance I had of us being anything other than rivals and I did a damn fine job of it, too. I was… well. You know how I was. And I’m trying to not be like that to you anymore, and it’s hard because I’m so afraid of fucking up again. So when we do this, I want to do it right. I want to do everything right because I really want this to work. And for me, doing it right means not having our first kiss in an alleyway.” He paused and winced. “And I can’t believe I told you all of this. I didn’t mean to say this much but the sodding words just wouldn’t stop coming. Fucking Cliffords and Hartford.”

“Alright.” Harry couldn’t keep the ridiculous smile off his face and he gave Malfoy’s hands a squeeze. “What now?”

“Now,” Malfoy said. “I think we ought to go back inside and finish celebrating our making Auror. They’re probably wondering where we are. Not that it doesn’t serve them right, the bastards. Honestly, drugging your trainees for amusement? What sort of stupid bloody tradition is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said. “I think it worked out well enough for us.”

“Yes, well. They’re just lucky it did.” Malfoy let go of Harry’s hands and opened the door. One corner of his mouth ticked up in an endearingly lopsided smile. “I’m lucky it did.”

Harry stepped past him and they walked back down the hall to the main room of the pub. Malfoy had put a hand on the small of his back to guide him, and Harry could feel the heat of it through the soft wool of his jumper.

They reached the table, and Harry slipped back into his seat and ignored the four sets of expectant eyes that turned to him as he did. Malfoy hovered beside him.

“Weasley,” he said. “You’re in my seat.”

Ron twisted in his chair to look up at Malfoy. “What? No I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” Malfoy said back. “I’d like to sit next to my boyfriend, and you’re in my seat.”

They hadn’t discussed anything about _boyfriends_ so it took Harry a moment to process Malfoy’s words. When they sunk in a few seconds later, the idea of it sent a tingling warmth spreading out from his belly and through Harry’s limbs, and Malfoy flicked a nervous glance down at him. Harry just smiled up at him and brushed his hand against the side of Malfoy’s leg, earning himself a warm smile in return.

Ron gawped at them for a moment, then collected his glass and moved to Malfoy’s empty seat, and Malfoy dropped into the chair beside Harry’s, scooting it a bit closer as he did so.

“And for the record,” Malfoy whispered in Harry’s ear. “I’m going to look fantastic against those blue sheets of yours.”

He certainly would, Harry thought as his hand found Malfoy’s beneath the table and he laced their fingers together. He couldn’t wait to find out.


End file.
